In Darkness Shall They Dwell
by VivusEtIterum
Summary: After the capture of Harry Potter, Dark forces overtook Wizarding Britain. Now, two people must try to spark a rebellion within the hopeless hearts of the citizens. AU from about half of Deathly Hallows onward, rating will go up eventually
1. Prologue

**A/N: Many thanks to my beta, kci47, for cleaning up all of the previously published chapters! **

**Disclaimer: I'm just playing with the characters; they're all JK Rowling's!**

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'We've only a half hour until midnight!' Hermione muttered into the ear of Harry Potter.

'I know,' he answered quietly. 'That's why I've got to find the diadem, destroy it, and then get to him before some kind of battle really starts. We've lost too many already.'

'You can't always be the hero, Harry! You don't have to do everything on your own! Let Ron and I help you, please.'

'I appreciate it Hermione, I really do. But this time, I have to do it by myself.'

She felt the slight brush of air as he walked away. Seething with anger, she looked around the crowded Hall, searching for a familiar face. Ronald was standing with the rest of the Weasley clan:she sidled up to him, and caught him by the wrist.

'Harry's just run off looking for the diadem.'

'No surprises there, Hermione,' he replied.

'There must be something we can do!' she whispered furiously.

'There is. Stay here, and hold down the fort until he gets back.'

She fought the urge to stamp her foot like a child, and scream in frustration. Sitting around doing nothing would get them nowhere – and in times like this! They were all on the edge of certain death, and the only thing anyone was worried about was staying holed up here, in the Great Hall.

She had just turned to leave when it happened.

A cold breeze blew through the Hall, rooting her to the ground. Those around her began screaming and yelling in horror, and she plunged her hand into the pocket of her denims, gripping her wand tightly.

A high pitched inhale sounded around her, and the hair on the back of her neck rose at the sound of it.

'I know that you are preparing to fight.' The sound of it grated in her ears, and sent chills of terror down her body. 'Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not wish to spill magical blood.'

It broke off, and for a moment, one shining, hopeful moment, she thought nothing else would be said. She thought nothing else could go wrong.

'Give me Harry Potter,' the disembodied voice hissed, 'and none shall be harmed.'

That flash of hope that had sprung to life within her diminished into a cold, sinking weight. And suddenly, she knew. The icy fear of what was certain to come next gripped her, body and soul, and in the next moment, she watched, sickened, as Harry pulled the Cloak off.

'Enough!' he screamed. 'I'm right here. Come on, Tom!'

Someone screamed his name, hoarsely, and Hermione's heart twinged again for Ginny. Harry stood in the centre of the Hall, panting wildly, spinning round trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive Lord Voldemort.

A crack sounded, and every wand in the place turned on the man who had just Apparated into their midst. Harry let out a strangled oath, clenching his fists.

'Come back, eh? To take me away, Snape?' Harry asked bitterly, his anger barely in check. 'Or are you just going to off me like you did Dumbledore?'

Their former teacher granted no response, merely raised his eyes to meet Harry's. She watched in horrified disbelief as he pulled out his wand and in the most emotionless, dead voice she ever heard, he muttered 'Legilimens.'

They all seemed suspended there, frozen in time as they watched the two men staring into each other's eyes. Her grip on her wand was so tight, sparks began shooting out the end, singing a hole into the bottom of her denims.

With a mild curse, she set it to rights, and when she raised her head once more, the trance was broken. Every wand that had lowered raised again, pointed at Snape. But the look on Harry's face was telling a much different, wholly more terrifying story. His eyes had widened, not in fear, but in something akin to sorrow, and even more so, regret.

'Oh no,' he whispered. 'I was so blind.'

At this, he broke away from Snape's deadened gaze, and glanced around the Hall.

'Lower your wands!' he shouted madly.'Lower them!'

She obeyed without hesitation. Harry looked ready to strike down anyone that defied his last shouted command.

'Mate.' Ron stepped forward. 'You cannot be serious. Whatever he's just told you, or shown you or whatever the bloody hell that was - is a load of dung. George! Remember what he did to George!'

'If you're going to be thick, Ron,' Hermione said icily, surprised at the sound of her own voice, 'just bugger off now. Clearly, Harry knows something we don't.'

The group gathered around them was silent, watching the interaction with interest and bated breath.

'Not you as well Hermione! He'll kill us before we can-'

'We don't have time for this.' Snape cut in tersely. 'Potter, I have to get you and the rest of the Order to a safe house, now. The Dark Lord will be here shortly, and should any of you be found, you'll be killed.'

'You expect us to just leave with you? It's a trap, if I've ever seen one,' Remus spat.

'Let Voldemort come!' someone shouted.

'No!' Snape shouted. 'Potter, with me-'

Hermione watched as the group around her dissolved into a chaotic mess. Loud pops filled the air as Death Eaters Apparated in, and she fought her way to Snape and Harry, the latter of whom was trying to get over to Ginny.

'Potter!' Snape shouted furiously. 'Potter, get back here!'

Hermione dove for him, but it was too late . One of the hooded figures had grabbed Harry by the back of the neck and pressed his Mark before Disapparating, Harry in tow.

She hadn't a moment to process this, when one of the Death Eater's screamed Snape's name and threw several curses towards him. She watched, torn, as the two began a duel. Behind Snape, another Death Eater raised his wand, and before she knew what was happening, she'd thrown herself at Snape and tackled her former Professor to the ground.

The curse blew over their heads, and he looked at her with an expression she couldn't name, just before he Disapparated with a loud pop.


	2. Chapter 1: The Ground Shall Sorrow Be

**Disclaimer: **As usual, I'm just playing around with Ms. Rowling's work.

**Author's Note: **This is where our story legitimately starts. There is some coarse language. You've been warned. And thank you again to kci47 for her wonderful work as a beta!

** Chapter 1 **

Wizarding Britain was now a dystopia as terrifying and cruel as one could imagine. The Dark Lord ruled as he had always hoped to, completely unquestioned and in total control. He faced no resistance, save from the Order, and even that was laughable in his mind.

The Muggle-borns who hadn't left the country were either well or enslaved in some manner. Their society had reached a tipping point; within the next six months, most believed the future would be decided.

Hogwarts accepted only Purebloods and half-bloods now, each class merely a platform for expressing the Dark Lord's views. Death Eaters were the teachers, spouting propaganda and false promises of greatness to the children.

Most rarely left their homes any more. Even walking to the neighbours' to share a cup of tea was dangerous for a half-blood. Rape, theft, murder, and other horrifying atrocities were commonplace now, and something of a sport for those who partook of them.

The Order had slowly fallen apart after Harry's capture; several of them had been killed in skirmishes with Death Eaters, and all that was left now were the remnants of a secret society that had once been the greatest known in modern times.

Minerva McGonagall was seated at the bedside of Aberforth Dumbledore, who'd been grazed with an unidentified Dark curse. His condition was steadily worsening, and she feared he would be the next member to leave them, permanently. They'd lost so many.

But the greatest yet was, in her mind, one of the strongest females to enter the war: Hermione Granger. The girl had proved herself indispensable after Harry's capture. She was- had been – one of their fiercest fighters, both in and out of battle. It still came as a shock when she realised two hundred and thirty eight days had passed since the Death Eaters had finally breached the security at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Hermione had been captured just after tossing Teddy Lupin into the arms of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

As yet another shaky breath passed through Aberforth's lips, Minerva McGonagall allowed a few tears to run down her prematurely aged and lined face. She was watching more and more die every day, but she'd never imagined losing Hermione. With a spluttered cough, Aberforth brought her back to the present. She set about finding him some hot tea and another bedcover, thoughts of Hermione Granger pushed into the dark recesses of her mind.

She remembered, somewhat bitterly, that she'd screamed for Kingsley to go on. Gryffindor foolishness at its very finest.

The moment Rookwood's hand closed around her ankle, the world as she knew it ended. She found herself being sucked through the familiar tube of Apparation, and directly into a small, musty hovel in the bowels of some ancient home or castle. They hadn't killed her immediately, as she had expected. Rape had not occurred either, though most nights she shook with suppressed tears and anger at memories of a drunken captor running his hands along her sides, trying to coax a response from her. She was one of the lucky ones.

The ropes binding her rubbed and tore at the sensitive flesh of her inner arms with each movement made. Her feet felt leaden and pulsed with a dull pain every time she took a step. She knew that it was finally her turn to be brought in front of the Dark Lord for death. Since her capture, it was all she had been waiting for. Fear no longer pushed its way into her mind. These past months had effectively stamped it out.

By now, her hair reached down the small of her back, a filthy, knotted mess. Dirt and other questionable substances were caked all over her body, almost like a second skin now. She felt as though her ribs would pierce through her skin at any given moment, her malnourishment having deprived her of any hopes of fighting back. Muscles no longer ran taut and wiry over her body, for she was now a feeble portrait of her former physical glory. Even if the Order had managed to find where she was being held, she doubted they would have recognised her in this state.

A harsh cough beside her jolted her into reality once more. She shivered slightly, for the wards around the prison chamber pulsed with menacing life; as she passed through them, it felt as though a thousand needles dug into her skin at once. She gasped sharply despite herself, and cringed as Dolohov, the man leading her, kicked her to the ground.

'It's the dirty blood in your body that's causing the pain,' he hissed into her ear. 'Don't fret, Mudblood. If you're lucky, the Dark Lord will end you soon enough. Now, crawl forwards.'

There really was no originality in them, she thought, as she began dragging herself along the ground.

She looked down at her hands. There was some kind of blackened residue crusted underneath her nails; lacerations traced up her arms in random patterns. The frigidity of the stones was to be expected, but was no less shocking to the raw skin of her palms. Low laughs and jeers were echoing throughout the room, and the hair on the back of her neck rose when she heard Bellatrix's low cackle.

Never having dwelled upon thoughts of how she would die, it was now all she could think of. Would it be the Avada Kedavra? An Entrail Expelling Curse? Would they simply beat her until she breathed no more? Here, on this floor, she was the lowest of the low. And she was accepting it. Yielding to it. For the first time in weeks, a little bit of fight sprang to life within her.

Gryffindor courage had gotten her embroiled in this mess, hadn't it? Perhaps it was how she should end it. She swallowed thickly, and stopped in her movements. Others had died for the cause. They had died fighting, died bravely. So would she.

'Dolohov.'

She screwed her eyes shut. It was not the first time she'd heard his voice, but it never ceased to disturb her, to twist her insides.

'My Lord.' She heard the man behind her reply fearfully. She almost smirked. At least she wasn't the only uncomfortable person in the room.

'Why is the Mudblood no longer moving?'

'My Lord...'

'Miss Granger, the Mudblood, still thinks she is Queen of the castle?' he hissed, low and dangerously. 'Filthy girl, I am not Albus Dumbledore. I have no love for the dirty blood coursing through you.'

'You should,' she replied, raising her head. Shocked at her own daring, she muttered, 'You've got half of it in you as well.'

His eyes flashed red, brighter and more terrible than she had ever witnessed.

'Bella.'

'My Lord.' The tall woman fell to her knees in front of her Master.

'Teach the Mudblood whore some manners.'

'With pleasure, my Lord,' she purred.

Keeping her chin held high as the madwoman approached, she tried to close off her mind from the pain. But as the curse left Lestrange's lips, it still coursed through her. Her arms and legs felt like someone had just set them ablaze. She could feel her spine twisting and bending upon itself. Screams echoed through her head, and she vaguely registered that they were her own. Had she not experienced the curse before, she would have thought it to be physically tearing her limbs from her body. Every nerve was affected, every thought in her mind focused on nothing but the pain.

She didn't know how long it lasted; it could have been days, months, years even. Sounds were no more than a low drone in her ears. Yet just as she began to think she would go mad, it stopped. A sharp inhale, and her lungs filled with air once more. The ceiling swam back into focus slowly. Each drop of sweat on her body felt like a leaden weight.

'Mudbloods, Mudbloods.' Bellatrix growled. 'Filthy little whore. Aren't fit to lick the dirt off of our boots...'

'Bella, Bella,' Voldemort called quietly. 'You mustn't tire out our guest too quickly. I have some inquiries. Bring her here.'

There wasn't enough strength in her body to fight off whoever grabbed her under the arms and dragged her to the snake-like man, but she prayed fervently that she'd have regained some before the next inevitable round of pain. She almost gagged when she inhaled. He smelled like decaying bodies, and the very stench of it clogged her nostrils.

'Harry Potter's faithful little lapdog,' he said in that cold, clear voice. 'On the very front lines with our Mr. Potter, weren't you, Mudblood?'

'Pr..oudly,' she responded feebly. The smell was still wreaking havoc on her insides.

'Such foolishness,' he sneered. 'Look where it has gotten you.'

She spat at his feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand roughly.

'The disrespect you show to Lord Voldemort,' he snarled. 'Perhaps we ought to have Rodolphus break you of that little habit, I'm sure he would appreciate a little revenge for his brother...but later, if you remain uncooperative. Lord Voldemort hasn't the time to coddle the answers out of murderous little Mudbloods like yourself.'

'Soak your head,' she muttered.

'Crucio!' He hissed. 'You will learn your place!'

Once more, the fire and knives invaded her body, pushing her over the edge. A ball of fire felt as though it was pulsing within her chest, on the brink of explosion. But the pain was so great it was inching its way into her mind, causing her to foam at the mouth, whimpering for help. Something was going to break, and it would be her-

A loud crack echoed within her ears, and rather suddenly she was prostrate on the ground once again, but someone was now gripping her by a hank of hair, dragging her away from the throne. Shouted spells resonated throughout the chamber, and then she found herself being sucked into the familiar sensations brought about by Apparation.

She didn't have time to contemplate the fact that someone had just rescued her. For the moment she was set on her feet, she fell onto the ground. Her last thought before her head cracked against the floor was that whoever happened to be her rescuer -if she was truly being rescued -was in desperate need of a bath.

Inside a small two-up two-down, a man dressed in black lounged on a small threadbare sofa. The stuffing was poking out the bottoms of the sagging cushions, but the man lying on them was so thin he barely made a dent in the decrepit material.

The flooring was dented and scuffed, patched holes in the wood from times his temper had been lost. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with that of ancient, musty books and men's cologne, though the last was barely noticeable.

It was another night, in an endless stretch of them, that he spent with a bottle of gin between his legs, and a knife in his hand, picking away at the Dark Mark. In two years, he'd whittled most of it out, but there were a few traces of the cursed skin still embedded, posing a threat to him. Sometimes, he still felt a Summons course through the wound.

This thought led to a particularly vicious jab, resulting in a fine stream of blood. He swore heavily, less than amused with his own carelessness. He reached for a bandage, and took another swig of his gin.

Useless. Useless, useless, useless. He was supposed to have died in a battle, not gone on for two years, with nothing to do but drink his liver into more of a sorry state than it had been previously.

They'd caught him blocking spells and protecting Potter. They'd caught him. The consummate spy. He, who covered his tracks more quickly and efficiently than one could dream. He'd fled, of course. Potter could have turned their opinions on him around, but with the boy gone, he was as good as dead.

The world had dissolved into madness around him. Children were beaten and murdered without mercy. Reports of Order resistance dwindled into nothing. There was no hope for any of them.

No, all he had now were his books, and the wireless. He'd set his owl into the wild, pitched all his Floo powder into the rubbish bin, erected impenetrable blood wards. No one would be getting in or out. No one would be contacting him, save for his one outside contact.

Some days, he seriously considered sticking the pistol that rested in one of the drawers upstairs into his mouth and pulling the trigger.

He barked out a laugh. Imagine, one of them finding his dead body years form now, with a hole in the back of his head and his brains scattered around the room. He'd pay to see the confused look on their faces. But that wasn't an option. The other three times he'd tried to do it, to end it all, had resulted in a bruised throat, unsightly scars on his forearms, and a week in the local Muggle hospital.

Of course, even if he truly wanted to off himself, he couldn't have. Not until he knew how it would end, officially. Not until Potter was dead, or freed.

He snorted, pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips, tipped it back...and threw it into the wall with an expletive. Empty, of course. He was in a perpetual state of drunkenness this time of year. It was almost Christmas, which meant January was upon him.

The worst fucking month in the entire damned year. He'd be forty. Forty, with nothing to speak of but a home that was crumbling around him, and numerous scars from battles he'd fought in. All for nothing.

Muttering to himself, he pushed off the couch with a wince. There had been a small twinge of pain in his chest for the past hour or so. But he rarely had problems with his heart; it was usually stomach ulcers, or renal failure, which was normally put to rights by Poppy, but he hadn't seen her in months.

His muscles were sinewy and toned, yes; but he had severe cramping in them, and dealt with spasms daily. He was well adjusted to pain; he lived in a chronic state of it, for Merlin's sake. This was different. It wasn't the aching throb that refused to subside, nor was it the sharp and sudden waves of unadulterated agony he had grown so accustomed to.

He had just reached into his pocket for his wand, to Summon another bottle, when it hit again. Cursing, he pressed his hand just to the left of his sternum. Something was terribly familiar about it...almost as though he'd experienced it once before.

Perhaps he was having a heart attack, or maybe the years of smoking and drinking had finally caught up to him and were eating away at his insides. Morbidly amused with his own thoughts, he decided it had been inevitable that his own body would turn on him. Everything, and everyone else had. Everyone but Potter, in the end. And Granger, the interfering little-

It hit him, with sudden and terrifying clarity. Granger had pushed him out of the way of that Killing Curse. He must have owed her a life debt for the stunt she'd pulled. Granger had been captured seven or eight months ago. The debt was being called, not willingly, but out of necessity. Granger was in -he winced at the sound of it in his head -danger.

'Fuck,' he muttered, gripping his wand. Every time his life got easier than the gods thought it should be...

Another wave of the peculiar sensation hit, but this time he recognised it as that of the Collector calling the Debtor. Merlin knew he was familiar with it; how had he not picked up on it right off?

He must have been going soft in his isolation.

This was madness. But it was pay the debt or die. He'd dealt with Life Debts before. It'd eat at him until he gave into it. And if she died before he yielded, he'd soon follow. He held his wand to his heart and closed his eyes, as the powers that controlled the Debt Apparated him to his destination.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he looked around and swore harshly. He hadn't been expecting the entire fucking inner circle, and then some. Voldemort raised his head and hissed in shock. Apparently, the rest of them were too dumbfounded to even react.

Taking advantage of this, he threw up a Shield Charm and ran towards what had to be Granger, who was sprawled upon the ground. Grabbing her hair roughly- which in and of itself confirmed it was the Insufferable Know-It-All - he began dragging her back towards the door. He focused on Spinner's End and dodged a Stunner, just barely; he sent a vicious Entrail Expelling curse towards a masked figure in retaliation. Adrenaline pumped through him, as he watched spells flying by him slowly, as if they were underwater. Not checking to see if he met his mark, he spun into nothingness.

Upon reaching the kitchen at Spinner's End, he released his grip on her, watching dispassionately as her body simply dropped onto the floor heavily. He'd just saved her life. He didn't much feel like making her comfortable. Looking down at her, he chuckled darkly. She looked like shit. She'd feel like it too, when she woke up.

He walked over to the liquor cabinet, and popped the cork off a bottle of Ogden's 1967, taking a swig that burned deliciously. He hadn't seen action in months, let alone faced one of his former 'colleagues' since his duplicity had been revealed. It could have been much worse. Much, much, much worse. He swallowed another mouthful and looked back down at Granger, sobered.

His life wasn't easy. It wasn't simple. It never had been. And this was an added complication, one he most certainly did not need. Thousands of things could go wrong. He wasn't even sure how to get her out of his home safely and into one of the Order's, seeing as he had no form of communication with them. He was at a loss for ideas.

This had the potential to become the biggest cock-up of his life. So he did what any other rational man does when faced with a daunting task. He drank. At least in a haze of firewhiskey he could pretend anything he thought of would work.


	3. Chapter 2: The Walls That Contain Me

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, of course.

**A/N:** Here we are; there is language in this chapter that is, on occasion, considered inappropriate. But where I am, these words really don't shock that much anymore, so I am keeping the rating at T for now. You've been warned, but if you've any protests PM me and the like. Thanks to kci47 for beta-ing!

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**Chapter 2 **

A sharp crack echoed through the air, followed almost instantaneously by a stinging pain on her left cheek. Her eyes flew open, and she shot up, prepared to fight whoever her attacker was tooth and nail.

Instead, she was faced with one Severus Snape.

He shook with something akin to laughter as her eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out once more. Slapping her had been a last resort; he despised anyone who would lay a hand on a woman, but she'd been out cold for almost a full day.

Of course, he hadn't been expecting her to faint again at the sight of him, but it had certainly been an entertaining bonus. He waved his wand, and a small bucket came zooming into his hand. After a quick Aguamenti, he held it over her head, contemplating.

Well, she did smell horrible. And he wasn't inclined to smack her again.

A wave of freezing water washed over her, waking her with a sputter and a gasp. She could have sworn she'd dreamed of Professor Snape, for whatever reason. Shaking her head, she rubbed the water and sleep from her eyes, and glanced up. He was still there. In his trademark robes, sneering at her. Again. Deciding the likelihood of dreaming about the man twice in such a short period of time was highly improbable, she sighed heavily.

'I don't suppose I'm dreaming?'

'No, Miss Granger.'

'Merlin's left one,' she muttered. Looking back up at him, she cleared her throat. 'We thought you'd died, you see. After that night. So I'm just a bit...well, shocked. And you, of all people to be rescuing me from that shit hole. It's just a bit...well, surreal. I have been rescued, haven't I? Or is this just some kind of bloody mind trick, like in Star Wars?'

'If only it were,' he muttered darkly.

'Is it really you?' she whispered. It could be a Polyjuiced Death Eater. It could be anyone at all.

'Yes, you irritating cow,' he snapped.

It had to be him. No one could snap quite like Severus Snape. Deciding it would be better to switch tactics, she rubbed the back of her head, eyes screwed shut in pain. There was a massive lump, seemingly throbbing under her palm.

'I have a terrible headache. Did something happen when you were removing me from that... place?'

'No. You escaped unscathed. I dropped you onto the floor upon returning to my kitchen. You're probably concussed.'

'You bastard!' she shrieked suddenly, ignoring the pulsing pain in her head as she did so. 'My damned head feels as though Merlin's been shoving his bits into my ears and stirring my brains with them!'  
He stared down at her, stunned into silence. He hadn't been expecting her to wake up, borderline neurotic, and start chirping away at him. He certainly wasn't prepared for that little display of language.

She watched, incensed, as he waved his wand and three small bottles came zooming towards her.

'Calming Draught, Strengthening Solution, and Headache Relief,' he said dispassionately. 'I wouldn't be surprised if your muscles have atrophied some.'

'Thank you,' she murmured.

'After you have ingested those,' he waved his hand in her direction, 'I suggest you go up the stairs, and make use of the room behind the first door on your left.'

'Why? What is it?'

'The bathroom,' he said through gritted teeth.

'it's fine, I don't need the loo.'

'Are you really so dense, Granger?' he hissed. 'Take a bloody shower, for the love of Merlin. I've seen faecal matter in better shape than you.'

'What a charming comparison,' she remarked dryly.

He flared his nostrils, and stuck his hand in his pocket. She hadn't realised she was holding her breath until his hand reappeared, clutching a wand of some sort.

'Here,' he snarled. 'It'll have to do for now.'

And he turned on his heel, almost whipping her across the face with his cloak.

She stood under the spray of the shower, revelling in the warmth and feeling of cleanliness it brought. She looked down at her feet as months worth of dirt and filth swirled around before finally being deposited in the drain.

To this day, she'd no idea what had passed between him and Harry. But it was enough, at this point, to know that Harry had been ready to kill every person raising their wand against Snape. She could trust him.

'Dumbledore always told us to trust Snape. And Dumbledore ended up dead.' a vicious little voice had taken up residence in her head, apparently.

But Harry had believed whatever Snape had shared with him, and no one hated Snape more than Harry. So, she decided that her trust would have to be put in Snape, for now. Besides, he had saved her. She owed him her trust, at least. Didn't she?

She'd used the wand he'd given her to Transfigure some toilet tissue into a few fluffy towels, and a flannel. She was somewhat ashamed to admit - even in her own mind - that she hadn't expected to see shampoo and conditioner on the small shower shelf. Peeved with her own prejudices, she set to scrubbing her scalp fiercely.

Professor Snape had somehow gotten her out of that hellhole. And she needed to find out how. It could help the war effort; what remained of it, anyway. She choked back the tears threatening to escape. Some Order members had been in those dungeons with her. Dedalus, for one night, had slept by her feet, and she found him gone in the morning. Charlie Weasley; oh, beautiful, sensitive, strong Charlie. He'd been kept there for sixteen days. They'd huddled together, tried to keep faith. For a time, she thought he would remain one of the long term prisoners, like she was. But then they'd marched in, wands pointed at his throat. She'd watched them march him out, his head held high, and at the last moment, he'd turned and winked.

Even worse than Charlie was Hestia; after Hermione's third month there, they'd brought Hestia in, bruised, bleeding, but still smiling. They'd been there, together for close to two days, when Rodolphus Lestrange came in. Unsmiling and cold, he dragged her away, as she screamed for Hermione to save her.

She shuddered and shut the tap off, casting a quick Drying Charm on her hair before stepping out of the shower. Wrapping one of the towels around herself, she looked at the robes she'd been in for the past eight months, and with a few flicks of her wand, they became an oversized jumper, and denims. Another swish, and with it her bra and knickers were cleaned. As she stepped into the clothing she felt a little more human than she had.

She Transfigured the towel she'd just used into a pair of thick woollen socks, and stared at the wand in her hand contemplatively. By all accounts, her spellwork shouldn't have been going smoothly. She'd never faired well with the wands of others, but for some reason she felt oddly at peace with the one resting in her hand. This wand felt different, yes. But it responded very well to her; almost as though it recognised her.

Deciding to mull on it later, she pulled the socks on quickly; too quickly, for she fell back against the door from a muscle cramp. Hissing through her teeth at the unexpected pain, she slowly massaged her calf, willing the tension to ease up. After an interminable amount of time, it subsided enough that she could push off of the door, and onto her own two feet once more. That had certainly been unpleasant.

Shaking her head, she opened the door to the bathroom slowly, and stepped into the hallway. The floors were a very old, very creaky wood. She glanced around, a bit more in tune with her surroundings after the shower and the potions she'd taken.

The walls were papered a dark green, though it was peeling away with age in some spots. There were no pictures hanging on them. No ornamentation to speak of whatsoever, in fact. She could see two more doors to the left, and on her right was the stairwell. The place was bare, lonely; and something extremely sad hung just under the surface of it all. It didn't even feel like someone living resided here; only ghosts.

Did it shock her? No. She'd never have pinned Professor Snape as the kind of man to have pictures on his walls, or a warmth-filled home, but the harsh reality of it here, directly in front of her, still came as a reminder that this was a man who'd closed himself off from the world for reasons unknown.

She walked down the narrow staircase as quietly as the old floorboards groaning beneath her feet allowed. It was rather late at night now; he was probably asleep, or-

'Miss Granger. Finished using up my hot water stores?'

'Do you have to call me Miss Granger? I'm twenty years old now, for Merlin's sake.'

He arched his left brow and pursed his lips, clearly annoyed.

'As I was saying, Miss Granger,' he said frostily, 'We have things to discuss.'

She sighed, trying to decide how one man could be such a bastard. He led her through a battered white door and into a small sitting room,in which she almost –almost - gasped upon entering. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves. Literature was piled on the floor, and littered the coffee table. It was nearly identical to her own room at Grimmauld Place, if said room was even in existence anymore.

Veering away from that dangerous train of thought, she perched herself on the edge of one of the worn out armchairs. It looked as if it had been a deep, chocolate brown at one time, before the fabric had faded into a dull, mud-like colour.

He sat himself in the armchair opposite, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together under his chin, and stared at her. Just stared. Didn't speak, didn't move. He barely looked to be breathing. That arrogant bastard -no, not arrogant. Not a bastard.

'He saved you,' the voice of reason in her head muttered. 'You can't call him an arrogant bastard.'

Even if he was.

She looked towards the fire, nervously fiddling with a lock of hair. It felt so bloody long. She hadn't seen it yet, but it was extended just past the small of her back; and the added length had weighed the whole mess down a bit, actually giving her curls that weren't helped along by magic for once in her life.

She wound one strand around her finger tighter and tighter, until she looked down and could see the skin slowly turning purple from the lack of blood flow. As a child, she had played a 'game' of sorts with herself. She'd see how long she could keep that piece of hair around her finger. And each time, she would try to make it longer than the last. It developed into a nervous habit, but it truly soothed her. She remembered, somewhat bitterly, the day of her Arithmancy OWL. She'd accidentally forgotten the hair, and had to take a trip up to the hospital wing, for a practically deadened fingertip. That had been only four years ago, yet it was a lifetime.

She glanced back at him, and still he hadn't moved.

'Professor,' she said as dispassionately as she could manage. 'Are you well?'

He had considered, very briefly, but considered nonetheless Obliviating her, sticking her in the Floo to the Burrow, and hoping she wasn't intercepted along the way.

But then, she had gone and said 'What a charming comparison' and ruined that notion. The little know-it-all had grown up and matured, and outgrew the Gryffindor impulse to hex him, or curse him out, or something along those lines.

So he, in good conscience, could not just stick her in the Floo. Maybe if she'd actually given him a reason to, but she hadn't.

And now, she'd let him stare at her for close to four minutes before coming out with that remark. A thoroughly Slytherin comment. Something was fucking wrong with this picture; she was too collected, too calm.

Was it even really her? The Life Debt had been activated, but perhaps they'd somehow discovered it and put the real Miss Granger in a dangerous situation, while he picked up the imposter. Legilimency would not work here; an imposter would sense the intrusion and push him out, but so would the true Hermione Granger.

So, he settled on the next best option. Albus had always insisted on those damn security questions.

'Miss Granger,' he drawled, voice in full teaching mode. He searched for the tidbit most likely to get her blood boiling.

'What marks did I give to you on your Potions final in your third year?'

She raised her eyebrows, minutely, but didn't miss a beat. 'I was two points off of an Outstanding.'

'So you were,' he replied. He remembered this, for it was the year the bloody Golden Trio had helped Black escape, and cost him his Order of bleeding arse Merlin.

So he'd marked her two points off of an Outstanding because if he couldn't get his hearts desire -not that he would ever, ever admit that - why should she receive hers? In fact, she should have been thankful; he'd only passed Potter and Weasley by one point, when in all actuality they'd both garnered a solid Acceptable. Oh well. He'd been feeling rather petty that day.

Somewhat peeved with her calm reaction, he switched tactics.

'And Miss Granger, in your second year, why were you in the hospital wing for several nights?"

'I was Petrified by the basil-'

'No, no, no, Miss Granger.'

She felt her eyes widen at his tone, and the malicious glint in his eyes sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

'The first time, Miss Granger.'

Her blood ran cold for a moment, and then she glared at him with all her worth, springing out of the armchair.

'You rotten, loathsome, bastard. You know bloody well why I was there. I'm sure you had a good laugh about it, too!' she fumed. 'How dare you bring that up? I was thirteen, I didn't know it was a fucking cat hair at the time! I wouldn't have sodding drank the bleeding concoction if I had bloody known it was cat fur! I went to all the trouble of setting up that diversion so I could get into your private stores - I wouldn't have wasted it in an attempt to test the book's specific instructions that Polyjuice isn't to be used with animal hairs!'

He almost laughed in her face. At least he knew it was really her this time - he should have gone right for the cat comment, but at least he'd rubbed a bit of salt on the wounds involving her grades. Reining in his diabolical amusement, he arched his eyebrow.

'If you've quite finished,' he said.

'I- well- yes, I mean...oh, fucking hell.' She sat heavily. 'Nimue's knickers.'

'Such language, Miss Granger. I wouldn't have expected it from a well behaved, upstanding citizen such as yourself.'

'Yes, well.' She coloured, a red flush spreading across her cheeks. 'It's more effective, really. It just kind of peppers up a sentence.'

'The only thing you're peppering with a mouth like that are the meals of Satan himself.'

She almost rolled her eyes, but pushed the urge down within her. He'd obviously had his fun questioning her to see if she really was herself. So now, he would have to abide by her questions.

'I don't think you got me out of that place just to drag me here and dredge up unpleasant adolescent memories,' she said quietly. 'Why did you?'

He contemplated concealing the truth from her, but decided against it, for the sake of his own mental health. He'd had enough of lying to people over the years; he'd let her take what he said at face value, and see where that led. Besides, he could always just Stun her and lock her in the basement if she got too obnoxious.

'It is my understanding that when you knocked me out of the way of a Killing Curse after Potter was captured-'

He didn't even get to finish the sentence.

'Life Debt,' she gasped, looking like a fish out of water. 'A Life Debt!'

'Yes, Miss Granger,' he answered testily. 'We have established it was a Life Debt.'

'Well then that means-' she cut herself off, looking rather ashamed of herself.

'What, Miss Granger?' he demanded.

'Well, Life Debts are essentially impossible between those who are, erm, incompatible.'

'Excuse me?'

'Not in that way,' she amended hastily. 'Just, if you were truly a Death Eater, or some other really evil wizard, the magic wouldn't have activated. It wouldn't have put you in my debt. Or vice versa. It just wouldn't work. Dark magic doesn't mix well with magic without evil intent. There aren't very many conclusive studies, of course.' She waved her hand dismissively. 'But it's widely accepted.'

'I am well aware,' he answered dryly. 'After all, I was an educator for an upwards of fifteen years.'

'I didn't mean it like that!' She blushed again and looked away. 'And I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't trust you before, because I did. Not completely, but then, you don't trust me either.'

Thrown off guard by her admission, and unsure of what to say, he simply chose not to reply. Instead, he stood and poured himself three fingers of firewhiskey. She had a look in her eyes that usually meant a barrage of questions was coming his way.

And he'd be damned if he listened to them without a drink.


	4. Chapter 3: Nest of Salt

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, of course. It's all JK's

**A/N: **This chapter is a bit shorter, and I do apologise, but I decided to publish it as is, rather than tack it on to the beginning of the next chapter, which will have plenty of action, and is rather long-I'm at 6,000 words right now. It probably won't be posted for another few dayss, so this one's to tide you over, I suppose. Thanks to kci47!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The two sat silently, staring into the flames that crackled in the fireplace. She'd exhausted all of his information on Life Debts some twenty minutes ago, and now they were seated in a mutual silence, fuelled by alcohol and their own thoughts.

She stared at him, the blaze throwing flickering light onto his seated form. His hair was longer than she remembered, almost brushing his shoulders. It was much less greasy - years away from cauldrons had certainly helped; but it still swung around his face in curtains. His nose was still hooked and protruding, his teeth still crooked and tinged yellow.

Some things hadn't changed. But he was extremely thin; she could see it, even under his numerous layers of clothing. She wondered just what he'd been doing these past two years to be so malnourished, and look so fatigued. And she never would know if she didn't ask; plucking up that famed Gryffindor courage, she drew in a deep breath.

'Professor?' she asked quietly. He raised his eyes to meet her own slowly, but arched his brow, inviting her to ask whatever question sat on her lips.

'What exactly have you been doing?'

He snorted harshly, and knocked back the remnants of his whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She noted, rather uncomfortably, the soft white colour of his skin, and the elegant length of his fingers.

'I have been drinking copious amounts of alcohol.'

'And?'

'And? There is no and, Miss Granger.'

She was shocked, at first, and then felt anger slowly creeping up on her. Trying to keep her voice steady, she looked him in the eyes.

'You've sat on your arse and drank.'

'I believe that's what I said, yes,' he answered.  
'I don't believe it,' she whispered furiously. 'The rest of the Order are out there, risking their lives. I risked my life for our freedom. McGonagall did, and Remus, and Kingsley. Our people were –are-dying, while you sit at home getting pissed?'

'So it would seem,' he replied emotionlessly.

'You really are a wanker, aren't you? No, not even,' she spat. 'You're just a fucking coward.'

It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the Snape she was familiar with was replaced by a crazed, frenzied psychopath. He lunged from his chair and was gripping the arms of her own before she'd even drawn a breath. His eyes were alight with hatred, the black pools normally devoid of emotion lit afire with his anger.

'Coward, am I?' he asked, voice disturbingly low.

She raised her chin and looked him dead in the eyes. This could be bad, very bad in fact but she couldn't hold back. The alcohol had loosened her tongue and once again all the doubts and grievances she held with him had sprung to life. 'Yes.'

'Do not speak of what you do not know, you insipid, simpering idiot,' he snarled. 'I've seen things that would make everyone in your precious little Order lose their stomachs; I've endured far greater than you could even contemplate. Tell me, Miss Granger, what your idea of brave is.'

'Harry-' she began, but was cut off by Snape's barked laugh, the harsh sound grating in her ears.

'Potter, yes of course Potter,' he ground out. 'Potter, who can't tie his own fucking trainers without someone encouraging him to do so, Potter, that little fucking prick whom I have done everything for!' he screamed now, spittle flying out of his mouth. 'Until you have been tortured, beaten, flogged, mentally and emotionally abused, Crucio-ed, or suffered countless other depraved punishments all for some snot-nosed children who've no notion of what reality is unless Albus sodding Dumbledore has spoon-fed it to them so warped and mangled it isn't even recognisable, do not speak to me about courage and bravery!' he shouted hoarsely. 'And if you ever deign to call me a fucking coward again, I assure you Miss Granger, it will be the last word you ever speak.' He spat the final words venomously, before pushing himself back and away from her chair.

She was shaking, her skin having lost what little colour it'd held. Her fury had given way, no longer pumping adrenaline through her veins.

'I didn't-didn't know,' she whispered. 'I didn't...'

'I don't care to hear your piteous attempts at justifying yourself.' He turned and faced her once more, face twisted into a mask of loathing and hate.

'I don't want to justify myself,' she said, her tone somewhat hysterical. 'I didn't know you'd gone through all that; I knew something bigger was at stake, I just never dug further. And I never should have called you coward,' she whispered. 'You aren't.'

'Quiet,' he hissed. 'You meant it. Now stand by your words.'

'No!' she whimpered. 'I was just taking out my frustrations on you, sir. You aren't a coward, you really aren't! Third year, you literally pushed us out of the way of a fully transformed werewolf! And you've always been involved with saving Harry's neck, really. You are-you were-a double agent. Cowards don't do that, Professor,' she whispered. 'And-and, well when you k-killed Dumbledore...a coward couldn't have done that either,' she finished quietly.

'Of course, Dumbledore.' He rolled his eyes and took a swig directly from a bottle of some sort of amber liquid; she saw no label. 'Always bringing up Dumbledore.'

'I know something more than what it seems took place,' she said with conviction. 'Something you showed Harry. Otherwise, he would never have stopped those people from trying to kill you.'

'Suffice it to say, Miss Granger, it was much simpler than you'd think,' he said gruffly.

She nodded once, her lips pressed together tightly.

'Professor, I really am sorry. I hope you can accept my apology.'

'I think it best if you leave me be for the time being. There are two bedrooms upstairs; the green one is my own, the other the spare. I'm sure you're tired.'

'I don't sleep much,' she answered quietly. 'If you don't mind, I'll just lay down on the sofa in your front room for a bit.'

'Fine.' He inclined his head. 'In the morning, we shall discuss finding a way for you to leave here.'

'Yes, Professor,' she mumbled. 'I apologise, once again.'

'Enough of that,' he hissed in annoyance.

'Right, sorry. Good night.'

'Good night, Miss Granger.' He massaged his temples lightly as her footsteps lightly padded across the room.

'Oh, and Professor?' she called from the door frame.

'What?' he demanded sharply.

'I don't care that you killed Dumbledore; just that you killed anyone at all.'

She was out the door and down the hall before he could even turn.

He couldn't handle it. Not from one of the Golden Trio, whom he had done nothing but watch over and protect throughout their school years. Hermione Granger had nerve, if nothing else. And quite a lot of it. Had he not rescued her almost two days previously? Or did she regard Apparating into a field of Death Eaters as little more than child's play? He took another fiery sip of rum, closing his eyes appreciatively.

Coward.

He hated the word, hated its connotations, and hated most of all how easily and readily it fell from the lips of others. It was bad enough he thought himself a coward for what he had done years previously, but to have others say it directly to his face was the ultimate insult. He had never expected praise for his role in the war, never expected to be hailed as hero, but never had he expected to be called a coward.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, one unable to be washed away by food or drink. Each time the word was thrown at him, bile rose, and he fought to keep himself from becoming completely unhinged. Granger had no idea how lucky she was to have escaped unscathed.

And what had she meant by that parting sentence?

He stood and began pacing around the room, the bottle of rum still in his hand. She'd taken that verbal beating rather astutely, when all was said and done. At least she had apologised, something that had never happened to him before. He could only assume it was because she feared what could have happened. Although she had stayed in the room, even lingered when he told her to get out.

'It's because she hasn't had a stitch of human contact in eight months,' the harsh voice in his head snarled. 'She has no interest in you.'

But she had apologised. And in the six years he'd spent as her teacher he'd come to note Hermione Granger only apologised when warranted. She'd matured greatly; that was blatant, even to him. Even offering him the use of her first name, for Merlin's sake.

She'd grown up. And as he clutched the neck of the bottle in anger as he thought of the way her neck had looked in the firelight, pale with an elegant curve to it, he realised she had also become a woman.


	5. Chapter 4: Looking Through the Glass

**Disclaimer: **Not mine of course.

**Author's Note: **I realise it's been ages since I've updated, but in that time I've found two betas- kci47, who edited the previous chapters for me, and Blood and Moonshadows who will be joining me on this adventure next chapter. Huge thanks to both of them for agreeing to help me with this. Without further ado, back to our story!

**Chapter 4**

She watched the night pass by on the threadbare couch, a scratchy wool blanket she'd found in the corner wrapped around her shoulders. The sky went from a black void, to an inky blue, to a dark shade of grey before her eyes, in what seemed to be a span of minutes, rather than hours. She was free. She could watch the sky, and lounge about, shower at her whim. She was out of that hovel. The elation brought on by her freedom was tempered by guilt, when she thought of Charlie or Hestia, but she tried to push it down each time it rose in her throat, bitter as bile.

Between the black and blue transition, she heard him walk up the stairsand slam the door to one of the bedrooms. As the sky morphed into the grey, a creaking of the floo rboards above and the running of water let her know he was awake. Despite her minor misgivings with the situation, she truly felt remorse over her comments from hours ago. He had opened his home up to her, and she'd repaid that kindness with doubt.

She rose as well, walking into the small kitchen and digging around for a teakettle. Breakfast would serve as a truce of sorts, would it not? She found it easily, in a small cabinet next to the stove, but as she began her search for tea, she realised he had next to nothing in his cupboards; what in the bloody hell did the man eat?

Opening the pantry, her mouth dropped open as her question was answered. Bottles upon bottles of wine and hard liquor rested on the shelves. It was no wonder he was so skinny; the idiot was practically living off of alcohol.

After resorting to theuse of her wand, she found a few rather sad looking tea leaves and half a loaf of bread. Setting the water to boil, she busied herself making toast with nothing but a small flame from the borrowed wand and her own determination. So engrossed in the task was she, the entry of the man whose kitchen she was utilising went unnoticed.

He, with his hair still wet from the shower, and his toothbrush in his mouth, promptly turned and made a hasty retreat back up the stairs. Merlin forbid he be able to walk freely around his home as he wished to. The woman hadn't been lying; she really must not have gotten any sleep to be up at this hour, as he was. Partly disgruntled that he hadn't even been able to enter his kitchen, and partly bemused as to why she was making him breakfast, he spat into the sink with vehemence and wiped his mouth with a ragged old towel, walking into his room after a perfunctory glance in the mirror.

Seating himself on the edge of his lumpy old mattress, he pulled on a pair of socks. Trying to think of a way to break the news to her that she couldn't leave; not with any degree of safety, anyhow, was giving him a pounding headache. The only option that guaranteed her a modicum of safety involved his one contact with the outside world, and he was reluctant to broach that particular subject with her.

He descended the stairs, a war waging in his psyche. He'd let her choose; it was, after all, her decision. And if she refused her options, he wouldn't say anything. She shouldn't have been his problem to begin with, but long ago he had resigned himself to the fact that the Golden Trio was always going to be his problem.

Feeling like a stranger in his own home, he entered the kitchen with his trademark scowl in place. She'd left some of the toast and jam on the counter top, next to the brewed tea. She, however, was perched on one of the rickety old chairs at his dining table, drinking her tea and eating her toast with far too much feigned interest.

So, she wanted to see if he would take the food. The moment he'd passed by the liquor cabinet, he'd noticed the tripped ward. If she was half the brains everyone said she was, she must have deducted that alcohol was his primary source of sustenance these days.

Settling himself across from her, teacup in hand, plate of food in the other, he cleared his throat rather loudly.

'Good morning, Professor,' she said, though not without trepidation.

'Miss Granger.'

'Did you sleep well?'

He didn't even have to arch his brow; she coloured immediately.

'Still asking idiotic questions?'

'I was being sociable!' she snapped. He smirked rather nastily; he so enjoyed vexing her.

'Oh, but of course Miss Granger,' he answered. 'Social niceties must always be observed by two people who were at each other's throats less than nine hours ago.'

The sight of her enraged expression elicited an ungainly snort from him. The rage slid into confusion, and she cocked her head to the left slightly.

'Are you making fun of me?'

'You deserved it.'

She didn't answer, but took a vicious bite of toast instead. Several minutes passed in silence, save for the quiet slurps of tea and crunching of toast. He finished his tea quietly observing her, and once she put her own chipped teacup down, he saw an opening.

'Miss Granger, I believe we need to discuss this unusual situation.'

'I'm well aware,' she muttered.

'As I'm sure you've realised, the wards on this building are not just the usual magic, but blood magic as well. I trust you know what this means?'

Faced with a question bordering on academia, he knew she would feel a compulsive need to reply. Almost as soon as the query passed his lips did she answer him in earnest.

'Blood wards are impenetrable by anyone who hasn't given a certain quantity of blood to the caster, and been included in the ward's makeup. Therefore, you're preventing anyone from entering, but also making it impossible for someone to leave, unless recognised by the wards.'

'Precisely.'

'Then I take it you cannot take my blood to permit my exit?'

'It is not a matter of if I can or cannot; in fact, I could with minimal effort. '

'Then why don't you?'

'Look out the window there,' he answered quietly.

She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor with an unpleasant scratching sound. He watched her walk to the front window, an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach as he noticed the gentle sway of her hips. Merlin, what sort of pervert was he?

'What am I supposed to be looking for?' she called, her voice dragging him away from the voice in his head quietly berating him for noticing such things on Granger of all people.

'What do you see?'

'A cobblestone street, and what looks to be a man fondling himself on the front steps of his home,' she replied in disgust.

He barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and grating even to his own ears.

'That's Patrick Cavanaugh; a very old Irishman, who went off his rocker close to ten years ago.'

'You wanted me to look out this window so I could see your lecherous neighbour masturbating?'

'No.' He scowled, and drew several complicated patterns in the air with his wand. Moments later, she shrieked and flew back to the table, grabbing a knife. Knowing trouble when he saw it, he shot up and wrested the butter knife from her grip.

'There are Death Eaters out there!' she panted. 'We have to do-'

'Absolutely nothing,' he finished dryly. 'Have you forgotten what I said not five minutes ago about the blood wards?'

"Oh...right, well, I wasn't...' she mumbled lamely.

'I understand, Miss Granger,' he said through gritted teeth. Oh, how he hated trying to sympathise. 'But they cannot see this house; a guard of two is always positioned outside, since the Dark Lord thinks at some point I will completely lose my sanity and decide to lower the wards,' he finished.

'Then why couldn't I see them last nig-' she cut herself off. 'Oh. A glamour?'

'Correct. I had no desire to see them stalking up and down the street.'

'Then why can we see...that?' she waved her hand toward the old man across the way.

'It's a simpler charm to perform, and maintain.' He lifted his shoulders in what may have been a shrug.  
'Does it have to do with...' she trailed off and gestured at his left forearm.  
'In short, yes.' he replied.

'Right then.' She exhaled unsteadily and seated herself once more. 'So my leaving that way is out.'

'Clearly.'

'Do I have any other options?'

'The Floo network, though the probability of ending up at the destination you desire is somewhere around 3.8 percent.'

'Well I'm not about to risk that,' she muttered quietly.

'It is your choice,' he replied.

'There's nothing else?'

There was. But he couldn't offer it to her at the moment. 'No.'

'Merlin's buggered arse,' she growled.

'I realise being trapped in a house with me is less than desirable,' he began testily, 'but I could just as easily throw you into my wards to be-'

'It's not about this arrangement!' she cried. 'Quite honestly, Professor, in the hours I've been here you've not given me a reason to distrust you. I don't mind this, not really. It's about the fact I should be out there, doing something! And I'm useless here!'

He pursed his lips slightly. Gryffindors. Always having to play the hero, weren't they?

'And what would you be doing, Miss Granger? Knitting with Molly Weasley, perhaps? Or "keeping watch" with Lupin? The Order is useless, Miss Granger,' he answered harshly.

'That's exactly why we were about to break off from it,' she responded hotly.

'Is that a bloody joke?' he snarled quite suddenly. 'Answer me, Granger!'

Storing away the fact he'd just referred to her as Granger, she inhaled sharply and began twisting her hair around her finger with harried speed.

'No,' she responded meekly. 'Some of us were unhappy with the way things were being handled. And by handled I mean they were doing-'

'Absolutely nothing,' he said grimly.

'Essentially. A war can't be won sitting around Headquarters.'

'And who was involved with this...new order of sorts?'

'Myself, Fred and George Weasley, and Luna Lovegood.'

'How did Minerva feel about this?'

'She was completely for it.'

'Insanity,' he growled.

'Why is that?'

'The four of you, trying to stir up resistance? Or even worse, fighting? You can't win a war Stunning and Disarming.'

'And who says that's all we did?' she replied coolly. 'We've both killed, Professor Snape. Let's put it in those terms.'

'Swatting a fly isn't killing,' he answered in derision.

Thoroughly angered with him now, she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. He couldn't say anything! He was here, in seclusion! He had no idea what she was capable of. Not anymore.

'Does Rabastan Lestrange count? Or would you consider him a fly as well?'

Grimly satisfied with his look of incredulity, she leaned back in the chair, fixing him with a glare of her own.

'You didn't kill Lestrange,' he scoffed. 'That's impossible.'

'And why is that?'

'I taught you for six years, you idiot girl,' he snapped. 'Your expertise did not lie with offensive spells. In fact, it's quite possible you were one of the worst duelists in the entire school.'

'Then it's a good thing I've improved, isn't it?'

'I don't believe it.'

The urge to shake him until he saw sense flooded her. Instead, she offered up the next best option.

'I'll prove it. Duel me now.'

She tried not to blush when he began laughing, because in all actuality, he had a very attractive laugh, and she didn't want to be thinking that. Especially not when it came to Snape, of all people.

'You want me to duel you? Miss Granger, I didn't go to all the trouble of not killing you last night, only to do so this morning.'

'Humour me.'

He sighed heavily and stood slowly, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve. He still cut an imposing figure in his robes, and she couldn't help but giggle when she noticed he was only wearing socks on his feet.

'When you've finished,' he said.

'Right.'

'Follow me. I don't need my kitchen destroyed by your errant spell work.'

She stuck her tongue out behind his back, and trailed behind him as he led her into the room they'd used last night.

'Stand back.'

Acquiescing without argument, she watched as he flicked his wand and the furniture in the room pushed itself against the walls. His desk glowed blue for a moment, before slowly floating out of the doorway, and coming to rest in the narrow corridor.

'Worried I'll destroy your paperwork?'

'Very much so. Enter and close the door.'

After doing so, she turned and faced him.

'Well Professor, whenever you're ready.'

He rolled his eyes, his upper lip curling, but turned and strode three paces away, spinning around and giving her a jerking bow. She returned the gesture, and in that moment he sent a Stunner her way.  
Narrowly missing it, she shot a nasty Stinging Hex directly at him. Soon enough, the room was filled with the panting of both as they danced around the room, each trying to best the other. Even as a silver jet of light ruffled the hair on her head as it went by, it struck her that Snape looked damn good embroiled in combat. Determined to prove to him she could duel, and well, she threw a series of mild Slicing Hexes at him, one after another, barely giving him to react to the last before the next hit.

Elated at the fact she'd hit him, as evidenced by the blood dripping off his forehead and hand, she was fully unprepared for his vicious Disarmer. As he watched her wand sail toward him in the air, a smirk of superiority plastered on that great, obnoxious, prat-like face of his, she dove towards him and tackled him to the ground.

His shout of surprise was muffled by the hand she clapped over his mouth, and the knee she drew up to his throat. She could see from the look in his eyes he was completely shocked by her willingness to cross all lines to win, but with a loud bang she found herself staring up at the ceiling, one eye swelling with the impact of some kind of curse. He stepped on her chest, smirk back on his face.

Not about to go out this way, she grabbed his leg and bit his calf, hard. He fell over, and she dug her elbow into his thighs, exultant in her apparent victory, until he kicked her in the ribs, hard.

She flopped onto the ground and conceded defeat when he put her in a choke hold from behind. He released his hold on her after a few moments, and rolled off to the side.

Breathing heavily, he stared at her intently.

'You...weren't lying,' he gasped.

'Obviously,' she replied, just as winded.

'Where in the name of Merlin's left one did you learn all that?'

'Over the course of a year. It was just a matter of turning into a survival experience, rather than one which must be logically thought out.'

'Interesting,' he muttered. 'You look like shit.'

'So do you.' It was true. Sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead, which had a light gash in it. His lip was swelling, and there were mild bruises coming into view all over. Positive that she looked just as bad, if not worse, she crawled over to where the borrowed wand had come to rest.

'Did you have to bite so hard?'

'Yes.'

'Cheeky cow.'

'Old bastard.'

'Are you proficient with healing spells?'

'Most of them; why?'

'It appears you have broken one of my fingers,' he said stiffly.

Stifling a laugh, she stood and walked over to him.

'Which hand?'

'The right one.'

She reached for the hand, and brushed her hand over his fingers, only to have him snatch his hand back with a snarl.

'Professor?' she was confused; hadn't he just asked her to fix the finger?

'If you could fix it without touching me,' he growled through gritted teeth.

Deciding not to question the odd request, she got as close to the hand as she could, and gently asked 'Which finger?'

'The index.'

'Episkey.' she tapped the finger with the end of her wand, and watched in mild amazement as the bone snapped to rights without even a flinch from Snape.

He was staring at her again, and it made her feel more than a little self-concious.

'Is there something on my face?'

'A large contusion, in fact.'

'Left eye?' she sighed.

'Indeed.'

'D'you have any bruise paste?'

'What sort of question is that?' he demanded. 'I'm a sodding Potions Master.'

'No need to get your pants in a twist!' she snapped back, before blushing. Oh god, she'd just alluded to a former teacher's underclothes! He arched his eyebrow, but broke eye contact and walked over to a small cabinet by the fireplace. He reached in and pulled out a small container of something, handing it to her when he walked back over.

'For your eye, Miss Granger.'

'Right.'

He dropped into his worn old armchair, and Summoned a bottle of something that smoked when he popped the cork.

'Ogden's 1876, Miss Granger. If you should so care to partake,' he sneered.

'I will, thank you very much.'

He gestured to the chair opposite him, and she sat gingerly, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her tailbone. There was no way she was about to tell him he'd broken the bloody bone on her arse.

With a nod of thanks, she accepted the glass he held out to her.

'I think, Miss Granger, we have several things to discuss.'

An idea had planted itself in his head last night after their conversation. One that was steadily growing, despite his chagrin. Less than 24 hours ago he had been firmly seated in his belief that the war was over, and that the Dark Lord had prevailed. But with the entrance of Hermione bloody Granger, something had sparked.

The Order was useless, he maintained that stance. But what would it take to end the Dark Lord's reign? Granger must have known. And in order to secure such information, he would have to share some of his own. It was necessary; he had learned long ago without such sacrifices, little was gained. Taking a gulp of the firewhiskey, he cracked his neck and tried not to panic.

'Miss Granger, I am going to reveal information to you that no one, besides Albus Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, and Mr. Potter,' here, he grimaced visibly, 'were privy to.'

He watched as her eyes widened marginally, and she set her drink down. At least she had the mental capacities to pay attention; he hated repeating himself.

'Just after my graduation form Hogwarts, I joined the Death Eaters, as I'm sure you are aware.'

She nodded minutely.

'I will not deny that it was my choice, and my choice alone. I craved power and recognition, and for a time, thoroughly enjoyed my tasks. However, I was enamoured with a woman on the side of the Light. She had forsaken me some time before; given up on me entirely, but I clung to my love for her. Incidentally, she was a Muggleborn and there came a time when the Dark Lord called for her death. I, of course, panicked and did the only conceivable thing to keep her safe, in my mind. I went to Dumbledore.'

He paused to take another sip of his liquor; oh Merlin, he was going to be sick. This was private; this was his story, and he had to do the noble thing as usual. He looked up at her, and she was-was she crying? For fuck's sake he didn't want pity, not from her. Not from any of them. Feeling his rage building, he set the highball in his hand on the table, ignoring that his hands had begun to shake.

She too, must have noticed, for she wiped her eyes gently and whispered something he couldn't quite make out.

'Pardon?'

'I said, you don't have to finish the story,' she mumbled softly. 'I know you're telling the truth, just by the way you-well, it looks painful for you. And I know you must be a very private person, and well-that's it, really.'

When he looked down, the shaking in his hands had abated.

'It was why I turned on the Dark Lord. I wanted-no, needed-to atone for my sins so I swore my loyalty to Dumbledore and began work as a double agent.'

'We knew it was something like that,' she muttered, 'though after Dumbledore-'

'After I killed him, you mean?' he laughed bitterly.

'Er, yes. Professor, why?'

'Dumbledore tried to destroy some kind of cursed ring; for the life of me, I know not why-and it essentially killed the cells in his hand, as I'm sure you saw in his final year.'

She gasped here, and her eyes lit up.

'That curse! It must have been malignant, like a cancer of some sort! It was spreading, wasn't it?'

He tried not to show his surprise-she really was bright-and nodded slowly, wondering if she could work the rest out for herself.

Both were silent for a few minutes, he pouring a second glass and she twisting her hair madly, gnawing on her lip. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she raised her eyes to his.

'He asked you to kill him.'

'Yes.'

'But why?'

'The Dark Lord gave Draco Malfoy the task of murdering Dumbledore the summer before your sixth year. In all actuality, he was punishing Lucius for his failure at the Department of Mysteries; if Draco failed, he was to be executed.'

'And you told Dumbledore all of this,' she replied in hushed tones.

'Yes. And rather than have a seventeen year old boy kill him out of fear and uncertainty-'

'He asked you to do it.'

'Yes. How else to prove my loyalties were truly with the Dark Lord?'

She pushed a hand through her bushy mane and met his gaze once more.

'Professor, you said you'd no idea why Dumbledore tried to destroy that ring-is that true?'

'If it wasn't, would I have said it?' he scowled. 'I was often kept in the dark, for obvious reasons.'

'Of course. You had to report back to Volde- You-Know-Who,' she amended hastily when fixed with a glare.

'Is there a significance behind all this, Miss Granger?'

She sighed heavily and reached for the bottle, pouring herself a generous amount of the fiery liquid.

'That ring Professor Dumbledore destroyed was a Horcrux.'

He shouldn't have been surprised by it, but the statement hit him harder than a Bludger. That Dumbledore had kept something as important as a bloody fucking Horcrux from him left a bitter taste in his mouth. Rage pulsed through him, and he stood and began pacing around the chair, muttering furiously under his breath.

He spun to face her, his eyes aflame with pent-up anger and betrayal.

'That lemon-sherbet fucking prick of a shrivelled cock!' he spat viciously. 'He told me none of this; only that I had to inform Potter about the piece of the Dark Lord that attached itself to him on the night Lily was murdered when the time was right.'

'What?'

'Potter is a fucking Horcrux, apparently, though I doubt the Dark Lord meant to make two-'

'Professor, you should know-'

'And that doddering old fool, playing chess with the lot of us-'

'PROFESSOR!' she shouted.

He snapped to and looked at her, breathing heavily.

'What? What else I have not been informed of, Miss Granger?'

'There are six Horcruxes.'

'Excuse me?' he whispered, his voice so soft and deadly she swore it was like a verbal Avada Kedavra.

'There are six Horcruxes. The diary Harry destroyed second year, the ring, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, and Nagini.'

'Nimue's freshly fu-'

'Professor! I realise that you're angry, but please, listen to me!'

But he was gone, spun out of control. Lies, lies, lies, all of it, lies. He had given everything up for the 'cause' and had been forsaken by all, only to find out this-the most important facet of the bloody war, and he hadn't even been deemed trustworthy enough to hear it. For the first time in his miserable existence, he wished Dumbledore was in front of him, just so he could give him a proper send-off; one involving thumb-screws, a rack, and other Medieval torture methods.

He sat again, rubbing his temples furiously. The headache brought on by all of this was threatening to knock him out, and he still had Granger perched over there, looking at him as if he was about to go off on a murderous rampage.

Maybe I am, he thought bitterly. It would certainly serve them all right for keeping him in the dark as they had.

'Professor, listen to me.'

He snapped his head up and fixed her with a glare that would have had a seventh year wetting themselves.

She gulped audibly, but continued on.

'We destroyed Slytherin's locket. We also stole Hufflepuff's cup from Gringotts, but I think when the Death Eaters raided Grimmauld, they stole it back. But we know that Ravenclaw's diadem is in Hogwarts; Harry was convinced he'd seen it in the Room of Hidden Things. As for Nagini, well, we hadn't gotten that far in the planning, but Professor, if we could just get to the remaining ones...he's mortal. That's what Fred, George, Luna and I were planning.'

Despite the shaking of his limbs and the pounding of his blood in his ears, it made sense. The whole damned charade made perfect bloody sense. And she was right. An entire resistance was not needed to end Voldemort; not until the end, when he was finally human once more.

It struck him that Granger had outlined her whole plan, and not sworn him to secrecy, or to join. She hadn't asked him to assist her, or demanded his help. She was just telling him.

'Why are you telling me this?' he asked sharply. Something was suspicious about it all.

'Because you deserve to know,' she answered, her confusion with the question evident in her voice.

'Do I?'

'Yes!' she replied, her eyes lighting up. 'What you've just told me cements it, really. You're quite possibly the only reason any of us made it this far, Professor!'

'And yet you all call me coward,' he muttered darkly.

'I didn't mean it!' she answered, a dry sob catching in her throat. 'Please, Professor, if there's anything I've ever regretted saying, it's that. I was angry, and confused, and suspicious of you, yes! Even though you'd saved me, I still didn't know any of what you showed Harry; please, you don't have to forgive me but please accept that it isn't true!'

She had stood up during her impassioned rant, and was clawing her hands through her hair in hysteria. She was serious, that much was certain. Before she did damage to him, or herself, he rose and waved his hand in front of her face.

'Miss Granger? I believe you.'

'Oh, thank you,' she sobbed. 'Thank you.'

Before he could stop her, she threw herself at him. Barely containing his hiss of displeasure, he stood stiffly until she pulled away, brushing her eyes.

'I'm-so-so-sorry,' she blubbered. 'But I regret how I've treated you, and I can't let you think that I meant it!'

He was poised to direct her back to her chair, and dose her with a hefty amount of Calming Draught-bloody Gryffindors-when he heard a crackling sound. Looking at the hearth with mild horror, he watched as the flames turned a bright, acidic green, and a figure tumbled out.

In the next moment, he found himself putting Granger in a full Body Bind, before jumping on his visitor and pinning him down.

Of all the bloody fucking times for his godson to make an appearance, this certainly wasn't it.


	6. Chapter 5: Turn Your Back and Run

**Disclaimer: **Not mine of course.

**A/N: **I normally don't do this, but I see the amount of people reading and I'm not getting very many reviews. I will continue this story regardless, but it's so much more heartening to hear everyone's thoughts. Constructive criticism, questions, or comments are welcome. Please, feel free to leave something!

* * *

'I knew it!' Draco shouted, despite the extra weight pinned on him.

'Don't-fucking-move!' Snape growled back, trying to cover his mouth. But his inactivity was catching up with him; he was already exhausted from the duel with Granger, and now this.

'I knew you'd gotten her!' his godson crowed. 'The Dark Lord was livid, Severus, tortured Dolohov into a coma.'

'Yes, that's all very well but-'

'But what? The Mudblood knows, doesn't she?'

'_What have I said to you about that word_?' he hissed back.

'Fuck - right, habitual, you know - she's turning purple, mate.'

'Merlin's cock- Finite Incantatem!'

'WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK IS THIS?' her scream pierced his ears, and he found himself releasing Draco to cover them.

'Granger, it looks awful, I know-'

'You shove it, you great buggering prat!' she shrieked, pointing her wand at him. 'I haven't forgotten,' and here, she pulled her sleeve up, revealing the faint scar that read Mudblood on her arm.

'Miss Granger,' Snape stood, finally regaining his ability to hear. 'There is something you should know.'

'Could you just fucking well tell me if you're a Death Eater or not!' she shouted once more.

'I'm not. And nor is Draco; not completely.'

'Oh? Is he a spy now as well?' she spat derisively.

'Actually, yes.' he drawled from the floor, shaking his hair out of his eyes. 'Seeing as Severus went and licked Potter's arse before he was captured and gave himself - Ow, fucking hell!' he rubbed the back of his head and glared at his godfather, who'd just smacked him viciously.

'I don't believe it.'

'Well, Granger, in case you never worked it out, our family ceased being of much use once you three escaped. I'm mainly an observer, though I get what information I can.'

'Who do you report to?'

'Kingsley. I doubt McGonagall would be able to stomach the sight of me; not very many can these days.'

'I wonder why.'

'Quite the comedian you are,' he replied with a smirk 'My birthday's in a few months, think you could make an appearance?'

'Listen you little prick,' she began furiously 'I don't know what this is, but I won't be made a fool of!'

'Both of you, shut it.' Snape growled, bringing both back to their days in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Hermione sat heavily with a glare at Draco, who'd leaned against the fireplace, smirk still in place. Snape stood and began pacing once more.

'Miss Granger, you are going to have to realise, sooner than later, everything you learned from Mr. Potter was twisted deliberately by Albus Dumbledore. For example, in your sixth year, what did Potter say was Dumbledore's response to his claims that Draco had taken the Mark?'

'That Dumbledore didn't believe him.' she answered slowly.

'Dumbledore bloody well knew I had.' Malfoy cut in. 'He just didn't want precious Potter knowing. Had to let him "work" everything out for himself, since Dumbledore knew it'd be wrong anyway. Potter never was the brightest.'

'Don't talk about Harry like that!' she hissed back. 'He could be dead for all we know!'

'Well, he's not.' Malfoy replied sharply. 'He's holed up in our Manor, treated pretty poorly, but the Dark Lord tried to kill him after you were freed, just in case the Order really had figured a way in. But he somehow survived it. The Avada Kedavra, _again_. Scared the Dark Lord out of his wits, mind you.'

She made an odd squeaking sound, and turned to Snape who had gone white, clutching the back of the chair.

'Do you think-'

'Yes.' Snape didn't let her finish the question. 'That leaves three.'

'Only three.' she replied in a hushed voice. 'Professor, we could do this.'

'I need to think.' he stood suddenly and walked to the doorway. 'Draco, Granger, attempt to behave like civilised beings. I'll be back shortly.'

And with that he was out the door.

Malfoy immediately sat in Snape's vacated chair. He threw his feet up on the coffee table with careless abandon, before lazily waving his wand and Summoning a tea tray.

'Where has Snape gone?' she demanded.

'Most likely off to get food.'

'Because he needs to think?'

'No, because he can't think properly without any, and I daresay he's not had much to think about these past months.' Draco replied, wincing as his tea splashed out of the cup and onto his wrist.

'I noticed he seems to subsist on liquor.'

'Oh, picked up on that?'

'Yes.' she responded with a scowl -or her attempt at one.

'Touchy, touchy aren't we Granger?'

'Seeing as the last time I saw you, I was being tortured by your aunt while the rest of your family looked on, yes!' she snapped 'Not to mention the six years of school spent being called all sorts of vile, loathsome names!'

'I see your point.' he leaned back precariously in the chair, arms folded behind his head. 'But you're still a Mudblood.'

'You really are scum, aren't you Malfoy?' she answered.

'I'm stating a fact, aren't I? I'll be the first to say you're brighter than me, but it doesn't change the fact you're Muggleborn, does it?'

'And why should that matter?'

'It's not natural, Granger.'

'And who determined that?'

'Scholars. People who've studied it.'

'That doesn't make me less of a person! And besides, purebloods are cranking out Squibs at an alarming rate these days.'

'I'm not denying that, I'm simply saying it isn't natural. How did it happen?'

'Bigotry.' she huffed.

'You aren't bloody listening, are you?'

'No!'

'Look, I know I was an arrogant berk. And let's be honest, I didn't have much basis to hate you save the fact I knew you were a Muggleborn who got better marks than me. And why should you have? I was the pureblood. I was better than everyone, according to my parents. Everyone except you, it seemed.'

'So you made my life hell? Lovely, really lovely.' she snorted.

'Yes, I believe that's what I was saying.'

'And you've just decided not to anymore? Suddenly outgrown your childhood beliefs?'

'Oh, I still can't stand you for too long. My outlook on Muggleborns has just changed. You don't all deserve to be servants. Or killed off, take your pick.'

'Tosser.'

He waggled his eyebrows in reply.

'Well I don't like you either.' she muttered. 'At all.'

'Understandable. I wouldn't like someone as good looking as I am either.'

'Merlin's pants, some things never change. What's it like, being such an arrogant, arse of a-'

'How...cosy.' Snape's low drawl cut her off mid sentence.

'Back already are you? Thank Merlin, Granger was about to unfasten my trousers. Randy, isn't she?'

She spluttered in a highly unladylike manner, completely mortified. Snape, for his part, kept a mask of indifference in place, but anyone who knew him as Draco did could see the slight tic in his cheek, signalling his intense amusement with the situation.

'Think she wants a bit of the old trouser snake, eh mate?' Draco chuckled, revelling in her embarrassment.

'Enough, Draco, before Miss Granger's prudish nature causes her to faint.'

'You're both blighters!' she exclaimed, jumping out of her chair. 'Just because I don't find poorly made sexual innuendos humorous!'

'On the contrary, I found it clever, Miss Granger.' Snape replied, barely concealing his smirk. 'Draco is a Slytherin after all. And the symbol of Slytherin House is, of course, a snake.'

'Well I'm not going around asking if you'd like to - to - oh I don't bloody know.' she threw her hands up in exasperation. 'This is mad!'

'Contemplate the madness later.' Snape said quietly. 'I have come to a - decision.'

She was quiet immediately and the colour in her cheeks faded at his sudden seriousness.

'Yes?' she answered just a quietly.

'If there are truly only three,' here he broke off with a glance towards Draco '_objects_ left, there is a chance to defeat him.'

'I know.' she had hardly realised she was holding her breath until it was released.

'I believe it would be in our best interest to attempt to contact the Weasley twins and Miss Lovegood.'

Never in her life could she have imagined this. She was seated at the table in Severus Snape's kitchen, eating greasy fish and chips from a take-away, attempting to formulate a way to bring down Voldemort. Not only with Snape, but with Draco fucking Malfoy as well.

'So these Horcruxes,' Draco asked through a mouthful of half-chewed food 'there are only three left?'

'That's what it looks like, yes.' she replied, mild disgust evident in her tone. For someone who deemed himself royalty for having pure blood, he was a right slob.

'Describe the cup for me, will you?' Draco asked.

'It's quite small; maybe the size of your palm,' she said, holding up her own hand as an example 'and golden. There are tow small handles on either side, and a badger on the front of it.'

'Oh, that's the one? It's sitting on the mantle in our library.'

She stared at him with he mouth hanging open, despite the fine mush of food resting on her tongue.

Snape very calmly put the piece of fish in his hand back on the plate before him, and drew in a deep breath.

'And how easily could you procure this cup?'

'I could try, but it's where he keeps Nagini.'

Snape swore quietly and pushed back from the table.

'So the cup and Nagini are in the same place, which leaves the diadem. Which, according to Potter, was in the Room of Hidden Things. Our most logical course of action would be to start with the diadem, thus leaving the final two Horcruxes in the same place. Should we attempt to destroy the cup and Nagini and succeed, I believe the Dark Lord would move the diadem.'

'Agreed. Draco, do you have access to Hogwarts?'

'Mother teaches Deportment every Tuesday and Thursday to the girls in each year,' he began thoughtfully 'On occasion she asks me to join her, to allow the girls a chance to 'practise', shall we say.'

'Deportment?' Hermione asked, incredulity evident in her tone. 'What in the name of Merlin do they need that for?'

'Women are little more than brood-mares in pureblood society, Miss Granger.' Snape answered quietly. 'Save a select few, such as Bellatrix.'

'And why is _she_ one of those select few?'

'Much in the way you would have been, if you were a pureblood.' Snape said with a slight twitch to his lips. 'Refusal to give in to what society expects from you, though I will admit the two of you would have extremely different motivations. Bellatrix craves power and recognition, which she could not receive as a mother. You on the other hand, I believe would have broken free of the mould due to your beliefs on equality.'

She took a large bite of her food to hide her embarrassment in that he had her pegged so accurately.

Draco noted the colour in her cheeks, and the stiff way Severus was now holding himself, and nearly wet his trousers from contained laughter. That was certainly interesting, though he'd never in his life imagined Severus feeling anything other than animosity towards a Gryffindor.

'In other news, I'm supposed to accompany Mother to Hogwarts in three weeks time.' he finally said, the awkward tension in the room palpable. 'But I don't think I'd be able to find it myself.'

'We could go with you.' Hermione cut in.

'Polyjuice would work, of course.' Snape mused. 'However, this requires planning, and by planning I mean several different ones in case the original goes wrong,' he fixed Hermione with a glare that could have burned flesh 'rather than allowing all hell to break loose. I will approach this as a Slytherin, Miss Granger, not dive into it like you Gryffindors.'

'Do you have any Polyjuice brewed, Professor?' she muttered.

'I have some in stock, yes. But it is a matter of choosing whom we shall impersonate at this point.'

'I've the solution for that.' Draco smirked and pushed back onto the rear legs of his chair, arms folded behind his head once more.

'And who do you suggest?' Hermione demanded.

'Father and myself, of course.'

'What?'

'Severus takes a swig of it with Father's hair, and you take one with mine.'

'Are you off your rocker?'

'That's an excellent question; Severus, your opinion?'

'That may be the most valid suggestion I've ever heard you make.'

'I'm touched, Severus!'

'Touched in the head, maybe.' Snape scoffed.

'You would know best godfather,' Draco smiled, a little lopsidedly and smoothed his hair back.

'I do not disagree. However, we still have to solve a matter of problems. First and foremost being will the Weasley twins and Miss Lovegood actually cooperate with myself, and Draco?'

'Well Luna is a bit more - omniscient than the rest of us. She'll be able to comprehend this. As for Fred and George - oh, for the love of the Gods, you cursed George's fucking ear off!' she moaned, slapping herself on the forehead.

'It was meant for a Death Eater.'

'And how are we supposed to convince them of that? Just because I have the mental capacities to accept that you aren't the man we thought you were doesn't mean they will!'

'Don't flatter yourself, Miss Granger.' Snape sneered as his hair swung forward to frame his face. 'As I recall, it took a certain amount of convincing.'

'It most certainly did not!' she replied, offended.

He arched his left eyebrow, leaned forward with a vicious curl to his lip and snarled 'Coward.'

She flew up immediately, upending the table and sending the remnants of their meal to the floor. Draco scuttled away from the scene on his hands and knees, watching in shock and awe as the two faced each other, nose to nose by now and began throwing obscenities back and forth

'I cannot believe you would bring that up again!' she screamed, her face turning an unsightly red.

'And why not, Miss Granger?' he hissed in a deadly voice. 'Isn't that what one would expect from a man such as myself?'

'You aren't a man, you're a miserable sod that's held on to any insult ever directed at him for use later on!'

'Much like you stick your nose into every book possible in order to spew forth information no one has any interest in hearing, just to try and prove yourself to people that could give less of a fuck!'

'Oh, you really are nothing but a bitter, foul git. It's a damn shame Fluffy didn't finish the job my first year!'

'And it's a fucking tragedy that I had the momentary lapse in sanity that resulted in jumping in front of you three when Lupin was about to make you into appetisers!'

'Well it's too bad Umbridge didn't get around to bedding you, isn't it? You'd be the perfect sodding couple.' she snorted in derision.

'Oh yes, as if all of Hogwarts weren't going to sigh in relief the moment Krum knocked you over the head with his club and dragged you back to his cave in Bulgaria.' he spat back.

'Maybe if you weren't so fucking noble you wouldn't have all these problems!'

'And perhaps if you weren't the most brilliant chit to walk through Hogwarts in almost a century there would be no reason to be embroiled in this conversation!'

They both broke off, breathing heavily.

'Did you just call me noble?'

'You called me brilliant.'

'Incapable of even finishing a proper row.' he grumbled, turning away from her.

'As if you helped any.' she answered back with a grimace.

Draco was still seated on the floor struck dumb by the escalation of the argument, and it's abrupt end. It was among one of the more curious things he had witnessed in all his years spent around Severus. Granger could really get a rise out of him. Probably in more ways than one, from the way he was holding himself.

Malfoy coughed delicately and said 'I hate to interrupt the after-glow of your little tiff, but we really need to figure out how to get the three of them here.'

Hermione pursed her lips, and withdrew the borrowed wand from the waistband of her jeans.

'A Patronus should suffice. I'll start with Luna; if she responds positively how will we get her here? And another thing, is this about to become a new...headquarters of sorts?'

Snape flinched; he hadn't thought of that. But as far as options went, it was the best. There was a storage shed out back he couldd renovate with ease, and more importantly, in a matter of minutes. Lovegood and Granger could stay there, or in the house. They'd have their own choice; he was, after all, still a gentleman.

He'd need a room for Draco as well, for if the mission to Hogwarts went successfully, he would be outed as a traitor. The room would preferably be separate from that of the twins since he had no idea what the levels of animosity between the men would be.

He felt a headache coming on, and with it the urge for more firewhiskey, but resisted. He would need to sober up in order to be alert and in top form. He made another mental note to brew the elixirs necessary to combat his body's withdrawal from the alcohol.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Granger smacking her hand on the table in front of him.

'No able to_ pay attention_ Professor?' she murmured, leaning closer until she was just over his ear, her breath moving his hair ever so slightly. 'Practise what you preach.'

He sat with his mouth closed tightly, a nerve in his cheek jumping as she cast her Patronus and sent it off to Lovegood. Of all the insufferable, obnoxious, infuriating things the woman had done the past two days, and over the course of the years he'd known her, whispering in a voice like _that_ topped the list.

* * *

Patronus sent, she bade Snape and Draco good evening and retreated upstairs, having decided to take Snape up on his offer of the spare room. The past two days had worn her down just as much as the eight months imprisoned by Voldemort, albeit in a different way.

Finding herself engaged in light banter one moment, yet at Snape's throat the next was exhausting, both mentally and physically. The man was so complicated and hard to read, she had no idea how anyone had dealt with him previously.

He was clearly damaged. She just didn't know why. Not yet, anyway.

But she couldn't deny that he was going above and beyond what she'd expected. Putting her up, and setting this...this plan into motion. If it worked, oh gods if it worked. She couldn't imagine her life without Death hanging over her head.

She would see Harry again. Ronald, the rest of the Weasley's, everyone left from the Order. Finish her seventh year, go to university. Walk outside into the fresh air without feeling that she was about to be cursed.

Hope. One little word with so many big ideas. One she never let enter her mind, or cross her lips. Not until this moment.

Having found the spare room, she closed the battered, worn door behind her and surveyed her surroundings. There was a bed that could probably fit two people, a small chest of drawers crafted out of a light wood, and a small desk.

The bedclothes were a scratchy, cream coloured wool that she quickly turned into a heavy, dark blue down comforter. Another few flicks of her wand and she had a fluffy pillow, and a nightshirt transfigured from a piece of the carpet.

Silently thanking the gods for her abilities in Transfiguration, she pulled her jumper and bra over her head and tossed it on the floor, shimmying her denims off immediately after. Sighing gently as the soft cotton brushed her skin gently, she pulled back the bedclothes and snuggled underneath them, drawing her knees toward her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She wasn't expecting sleep, but it had been so long since she'd curled in a bed, she couldn't resist.

Blocking out guilty thoughts for sleeping in a bed, and eating a hot, greasy meal while there were still prisoners in that place, she sighed gently and allowed her eyelids to close, if only for a moment.

* * *

They'd sat and discussed his family for a few hours. These days, Lucius spent most of his time holed up at the Ministry, just to keep away from the Dark Lord. Draco's displeasure with his Father was evident, by the amount of liquor he consumed.

Snape listened attentively, but underneath it all he was working through plans and trying to remember what he knew of Horcruxes. Excusing himself for a moment, he walked down the hall into his office and grabbed a thick tome on the subject. Returning, book in hand, he stopped short.

Draco was passed out on the floor in the kitchen. The boy really couldn't hold his liquor well.

Grumbling to himself, Snape hooked his forearms under his godson's underarm's and dragged him a few feet to the old sofa by the window. With another heave and a slight grunt, he had Draco's upper half on the sofa. Before the little git could slip off, he grabbed him by both legs and threw those up as well, nudging the boy until he had rolled into a suitable position.

Snape drew the curtains in front of the window closed before treading softly across the room to the door leading into his subterranean Potions lab. He walked down the stairs as quietly as possible, hopped off from the fourth step - the last three made more noise than Hagrid after a few too many brews - and Summoned a piece of parchment, with quill and inkwell. He needed to make lists.

He was a meticulous man normally, but something of this magnitude _required_ it. He would not, as he had already told Granger, approach this without careful thought and planning. Any scenario that entered his head would be mapped out - and if she didn't like it, well , he'd lock her in.

_Not that you'd have an easy time of it_ he thought.

Scratching _Strengthening Solution_ onto the parchment, he pressed his thumb against his left eyebrow and sighed. Several minutes passed with him in this position, furiously scribbling away. With the addition of _Boil-Cure_ - he never knew what could happen, after all- he tacked it to the wall with a Sticking Charm.

He'd just dipped his quill into the inkwell once more when he heard a slight creak overhead. It had to have been Granger, since he knew Draco's footsteps, and they weren't the ones echoing above. With a low groan - his back hurt like the Dickens from his spat with her earlier - he pushed himself off the stool and headed for the upper level again.

The last thing he needed was for her to get ideas in her head and stumble upon some Dark tome. If he knew the girl, she was headed for his office. Pausing at the top of the stairs he shook his hair forwards to hide his face, and opened the door slowly.

He was greeted with the sight of her in a nightshirt, bent over the counter, peeling what appeared to be a grapefruit. So he'd pegged that one wrong. Peeved - the fruit was his, for his breakfast - he made to begin an argument with her, when she raised her head and straightened up.

His breath caught, and he knew his eyes had widened. Her hair was a wild, tangled mass about her face and down over her shoulders, but he could clearly see the outline of her breasts against the fabric, and they immediately trumped the vision her hair made.

'Professor?' she queried softly. 'Is everything okay?'

He swallowed, hard - good Merlin it's not as though you've never seen breasts before - and replied, in the most disinterested tone he could manage 'You're eating my grapefruit.'

She cocked her head to the left slightly, a bemused smile taking shape.

'My apologies, Professor, but I didn't take you for a grapefruit man.'

He noticed a slight blush had suffused into her cheeks. Pleased that he wasn't the only one uncomfortable there, he strode forward to the opposite side of the counter.

'If you're going to peel the damn thing, at least go about it in the correct manner.' he snapped, though not with the usual derisive bite. In fact, it could be interpreted as a teasing tone, she thought.

He plucked the fruit out of her grasp, and in doing so inadvertently brushed his little finger against her thumb. She felt a tingle, where their fingers had met, and quickly clenched her hands into fists, in order to resist the urge to grab his hands and experience the feeling once more.

Inside her head, a battle between the little voices that show up in everyone every now and then was raging.

_'You aren't attracted to him - it's just very late, and you've had no sleep'_

_'That's bollocks, you've been on him since he handed you that wand.'_

_'No, no, no, no, NO. It's just late - he was a right bastard to you for years!'_

_'But the way he curls his lip and tosses his head-'_

_'It's nothing, you've just not been around a man for months-'_

_'Draco's here, and you haven't a sliver of attraction towards him'_

_'This is absurd, he was your PROFESSOR.'_

_'That was two years ago.'_

_'He's still greasy, and those teeth-ugh!'_

_'But the way his eyes move; like they're undressing you each time you come near him.'_

_'Well, he does have nice fingers. Wonder what they could do-'_

'Miss Granger?' he growled. 'Are you listening?'

'What? Yes, of course.'

'Do not lie to me.' he said 'I can tell when people are, in case you hadn't noticed in the six years I taught you.'

'You just guess,' she scoffed. 'and end up with the right answer. There's no plausible explanation for your supposedly inherent lie detector!'

'It would do you good to stop judging everything by what you've read, and what theories you believe apply to everything' he answered.

'The only way you could determine whether someone was lying or not, without a confession, would be Legilimency. Which is magic, and thus not you really knowing. Knowing would imply you worked it out all by yourself and knew for a fact it was a lie.'

'Despite your admittedly sound logic, I do not use Legilimency, as it is illegal on the whole.'

'Then how do you do it?' she demanded. By the gods, he really was an infuriating git. Even if he did have lovely hands. Which were currently peeling the grapefruit with practised ease and dexterity.

'As an example, your ..._friend_, Mr Ronald Weasley, has yet to tell a lie that I have seen, without his ears turning pink. The first time I witnessed him lie - the mountain troll incident - I noted his ears turning pink. Each time after that, when questioned his ears stayed flesh coloured; unless he was lying.'

'That's not true, Ron's ears only turn red when he's embarrassed.' she scoffed.

'I said _pink_, Granger. Not red.'

'But...'

'How do I know it is not mere coincidence? Easily. I was not a spy for twenty or so years for nothing. I have excellent observational skills.'

'Well, that's one case. I'm sure there are students you haven't got pegged like that.'

'This is true; however, if I am unaware of a student's, shall we say, traits, in this area I need only look at their eyes. People telling a lie are proven to look slightly up and to the left.'

'That's absurd.'

'Is it? Tell me, were you aware that when you tell a lie you bite your lip?'

'I do not!' she answered indignantly. 'I only do that when I'm thinking!'

'Is that so Miss Granger?' he arched his eyebrow and leaned forward. 'Then tell me, does a lie not constitute thinking of it in the first place?'

She flared her nostrils and jerked her head stiffly in agreement. He, in turn, smirked in a highly self satisfied manner and took a bite out of the fully peeled grapefruit.

'I was going to eat that!' she exclaimed.

'Pity,' he said 'It's delicious.' And with that got up and headed for the door he had come from ,grapefruit in hand.

'Wait! Professor!' she followed him to the door. 'May I come with you?'

She was breathing heavily still from their debate, her breasts heaving up and down in a rather enticing manner. He could barely think right now; imagine trying to get anything done with those near him? Merlin, hadn't she ever heard of a bra? Though they were perky enough-

'No.' he said, both to her and to the voice in his head commentating on her bosom. He scowled, and promptly slammed the door in her face.


End file.
